Dirty Business
by Thunderxtw
Summary: After being betrayed by his client, Bayman seeks nothing but vengeance. As the danger escalates, can he triumph, or will he perish at the hands of Victor Donovan?
1. Chapter 1

The sound of rapid gunfire was earsplitting, the mounting heat from the flames like an oven turned on high. The whirs of the Hind helicopters circling overhead were like a pack of vultures stalking their prey. He could still remember it like it was yesterday, so fresh in his mind. A man and a woman, his parents, fled for their lives, panting, stumbling over countless times. Even he knew they had no chance of escape. The pursing helicopter had them in its crosshairs as it stilled itself in the air, allowing them only a few seconds left. The twin rockets would launch and lock onto their heat signatures. His heart raced as the moment came and before long…it was all over in one earth-shattering explosion.

At the sound of the fatal screams, Bayman shut his eyes, then reopened them to find himself back on the rapid transit bound for home. Not a day went by where that memory would not catch up with him. Whether it was morning, noon, or night it followed him like a stray dog.

The train jostled a bit and he gripped one of the poles to steady himself, trying to forget, focusing on something less tragic. However, his mind would not have it, rejecting the pleasant, replacing it with images of only pain and sorrow.

Back then, he was only a child, a witness to one of the goriest events he ever saw, and he was powerless to do anything to stop it. All that remained now was his profession and the only person he could count on in this life: himself. He needed nothing else. No friends, no women, no distractions.

Nothing.

He served Victor Donovan for the past several months. His client rented him an apartment, supplied him with whatever he needed for the job itself, and took care of everything else. No matter the situation, Bayman always did as his clients asked without protest, and Victor was no different. He was only to do the job and move on.

_'Move on...'_

If only his mind could do the same.

Bayman adjusted the dark, fur coat about himself before doing the same to his matching skullcap. The cold of the season did not affect him much. It was nothing compared to the harsh cold found in his homeland of Russia.

His calloused hands still had splotches of dry blood on them from the last operation. He had not had the time to wash his hands as it was a bit of a rush job. The reeking smell was still there too as he sniffed them. However, not potent enough for anyone to notice as he slipped a pair of gloves on for further concealment.

His head turned to the little girl shivering in front of him, her teeth chattering between explosive sneezes. He gave her a blank stare and the moment she saw his face she turned away. His appearance was not exactly the friendly kind, if judging from the looks he got everyday was any indication.

Her body had nothing to keep her warm but a torn jacket and a pair of jeans. Not even a scarf was present around her neck and instead of boots she had on tennis shoes that were coming apart.

Bayman approached her, his hulking shadow looming over her.

His eyes met hers, seeing panic within them. "You cold?" He asked.

She continued to shiver, hesitant before she gave him a quick nod. The look in her eyes said she did not trust him, wanted him to go away and leave her alone. She had a right to be cautious and nervous of an approaching stranger, especially one of his size.

Bayman slipped off his coat and handed it to her. "Here. You take."

Her tiny green eyes seemed to widen in confusion. She did not say a word to express how she felt, but the reaction she gave was enough. Reaching for the coat with a shaky hand, she fumbled with it and put it on. It covered her entire body, but he knew it would keep her warm.

Her smile was her thanks, and he nodded to her just when he noted they had reached his stop. His breath became frosty again as he sighed on stepping out into the city shrouded in white. Flakes came down on his shoulders like little specs of dandruff.

His boots began to trudge through the deep, wet mounds of snow in his path. The streetlights illuminating the roads and sidewalks made his journey home much easier.

* * *

According to the numbers on the round-faced clock he had since youth, it was past midnight. He always made sure that it had the right time, that the alarm would always ring to wake him up. It was a gift from his parents. Despite years of accidental abuse, it still ran just as fine as it did when he first got it.

Bayman switched off the lamp and walked through the darkness toward his bedroom. Then he paused, craving one last swallow of milk before he turned in for the night. He returned to the kitchen, reopened the carton, and drunk from it, the cold taste soothing his throat.

As he turned to leave, his senses went into high alarm.

The sudden noise of shattered glass prompted him to drop to the tiled floor. Glass fragments spilled out all over his furniture, and when he saw where the shot had come from, only one thing came to mind.

_'Sniper…'_

Bayman pulled his scoped pistol from the drawer, using his furniture as cover like a soldier in war did his surroundings. In front of him, he could spot the glowing red dot from the assailant's sniper rifle bouncing off the walls, searching for him. Further upward, he saw the hole where the shot had just missed him.

He stood with his back flattened against the wall, near where the bullet had penetrated his window. Peeking out the other, he saw the assailant dressed in a stealth uniform, crouched on one knee upon the neighboring rooftop.

They fired another round to where his head last went before he pulled it away just in time. With regarding the slow response time of the sniper gun, Bayman exposed himself, took aim, and unloaded a few silent shots of his own. The first three missed and only hit solid brick, but the last caught the assailant above his arm. The next got him in the leg when he tried to flee. He fell back, clutching his shoulder upon his withdrawal from the viewpoint.

Bayman wasted no time and burst out of his apartment, hurtling over parked cars, darting into the next building in nothing but a singlet and sweat pants. He took the stairs, blood pumping with renewed adrenaline, clutching his pistol tight. Upon the rooftop, he found the sniper trying to crawl away on his knees. Blood seeped from his shoulder and leg, his voice groaning from the pain inflicted by the wounds.

The man picked up the rifle single-handed in attempt to defend himself, but Bayman kicked it out of his grasp and let it skitter away. He hoisted his pistol and aimed it at the sniper's head. "Who sent you?"

The man said nothing, just groaned, and continued to nurse his bloodied shoulder.

Bayman shot a bullet into his thigh, creating yet another wound. "I asked you a question: Who sent you?"

"Like I'd tell you. " came the raspy answer after a pained whimper. He knew he would not say anyway. Nowadays, assassins swore under oath never to rat out their clients no matter the circumstance.

Then it all became clear when he noted the uniform up close and ripped off the sniper's night-vision goggles and mask. Bayman let out a silent gasp. He recognized the thin mustache and pale complexion. One of Victor's other hit men.

In this moment, Bayman would have thought his eyes were deceiving him, but he knew what he saw was real.

"Damn." The sniper muttered.

"Why?" Bayman aimed at his forehead this time, eyes narrowed.

"Fuck you." The sniper gave a weak chuckle, which turned out to be his last as Bayman's finger pulled back on the trigger.

It no longer mattered as he felt the dots of blood stain his face.

Bayman pondered as he glared at the corpse. For some reason, Victor Donovan wanted him dead.

He knew if he stayed here, it was likely another sniper would come after him, perhaps even more. Moving out and relocating was his only option. He then balled his hand into a tight fist as it began to tremble, his jaw doing the same.

The question echoed in his mind before he looked to the blackened sky with a new purpose.

_'I'll see to it that you suffer dearly for this, Donovan.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Everywhere the snow had melted into puddles of water. Flowers began to bloom once more and the leaves from the trees grew and reverted to their natural green. All these were the few indications of spring. Gone were the chilly gusts of wind, slippery floors of ice, and snow covered streets that annoyed almost everybody.

Bayman had remained stationary in the shadowy alleyway, awaiting his target to show. The past few days were rough on him. He had to change his address, stock up on needed goods, but most of all, look over his shoulder at every turn. The stale, potent smell of garbage he found unpleasant. Yet, he dealt with it anyway, looking across the street at what came out of the restaurant.

A man ambled back and forth outside, holding a sandwich in one hand and talking on his cell phone with the other. His belly resembled a pregnant woman's, and he had the buzz cut of a marine. His mustache remained thin as usual. The face and mannerisms were too unmistakable to forget. His name was Sylvester, Donovan's chauffeur. Bayman had monitored him for the short months he knew him, including anyone else affiliated with Victor. He always thought it best to study everyone associated with his clients.

Sylvester was the easiest. He always came here to get a sandwich at the exact same time and day.

Bayman made his way toward the man once the road was clear to cross. Sylvester's voice was boisterous, not seeming to care if anyone overheard his conversation. "Tellin ya, baby, I got it made! They just made me the new CEO and I'm firing asses left and right. Gotta put them idiots in they place, you know?" He chuckled, took a bite of his sandwich with crumbs flying from his mouth, and scowled. "What chu mean you don't believe me? I am the damn CEO!"

Loud and obnoxious. Characteristics so unlike a chauffeur. His dialogue here was much different compared to the formal and polite way he spoke when in Donovan's presence.

Bayman stood right behind him and glared, waiting for him to turnaround. When he did, his eyes got huge and he spewed out a plethora of chewed up lettuce and tomato. The color in his face turned pale and his words became nothing but incoherent mumbles after he uttered the words, 'oh shit.'

Bayman took the cell phone from his trembling hand and put the receiver to his mouth. "He'll call you back." Flipping it closed, he allowed Sylvester to get a glimpse of his pistol handle. "Let's take a walk." His head motioned toward the back of the restaurant where nobody could see them.

"Please…d…don't…k…kill me, man." Sylvester stammered on the way there.

"Long as you cooperate, nothing will happen to you. " Bayman checked around for any signs of people. There were a couple of kids pedaling by on their bicycles. He waited for them to pass and disappear before he starting talking. "You drive Donovan around. When do you expect to pick him up again?"

"I…I can't share that information." He averted his eyes and looked at the sidewalk.

Bayman glared and cracked his knuckles. "You gonna give me a reason why you cannot?"

"Ok, ok. Just cool it." Sylvester waved his hands. "Uh…actually…I have to pick him up… from his pad soon."

Bayman nodded at his cooperation. It was the perfect place to get the jump on Victor when he least expected it. "Good. I suppose you won't mind if you give me a ride there then."

Sylvester's eyes glistened in shock. "Huh? Are you nuts or something?"

"Is that an objection?"

"N..n…nah, man." The chauffeur waved his hands again and swung his foot behind his leg. "Th…that's cool. I'm all for it, man. I was just going to say what a brilliant idea it was."

He rolled his eyes and grumbled. "Quit babbling and start the car."

"Yes, sir." Sylvester gave him a salute and jogged to the driver's side of the black sedan. Bayman put himself in the backseat, keeping a hand close to his pistol. Sylvester started the engine and maneuvered around the other cars before they were in the street. The interior of the sedan was quiet now, save for the loud breeze of the air conditioner.

Bayman pondered in what ways he would make Victor suffer, as there were so many creative ones to choose from. Whatever the case, he wanted to ensure it was just as painful as possible.

It was a few minutes before Sylvester's eyes began taking glances at the rearview mirror. "S..s…so. What's your beef with Victor?"

His eyes rose in slow motion and focused on the man in the driver's seat. "Why is it any of your concern?"

"Ju…just wondering."

"Let's just say he made a really bad choice and he's going to pay for it. Good enough for you?"

"Ye..yeah." His hands seemed so tense they looked like they were on the verge of breaking the steering wheel. "Honestly, I don't understand why anyone would wanna harm Mister Donovan. He's such a generous dude."

"Are you saying that because you're his chauffeur, or do you really mean that?"

"No lie. I wouldn't have this job if it weren't for him. Besides, he knows I'm the best damn chauffeur he's got. He won't fire me cause…"

"Just drive." The Russian commanded as he looked out the tinted window. The less Sylvester talked the better.

"Yes, sir."

Bayman could see the mansion getting closer in view. He told Sylvester to stop the car and let him off right where they were, in favor of an ambush. "Act natural." The order he gave him was the simplest to follow.

The chauffeur then pulled up and parked beside the iron gate as it spread its doors open. Bayman climbed over the fence and landed in the grass. Taking out his wire scissors, he cut the wiring to all the surveillance cameras overlooking the lawn and entrance.

He snuck through the area undetected, and then paused as he heard an unnatural rustling in one of the trees. His knife flickered through the air with shuriken-like speed as he sent it soaring at the culprit hiding there. The stranger dropped down from the branches and to his surprise, it was a woman.

Her skin had a dark tone to it, the kind when one received too much exposure from the sun. She had short-trimmed brown hair and donned a violet gown. There was a gun holster strapped to her thigh. However, she showed no willingness to use the weapon it contained, at least not yet.

In one quick blur, she swiped at him with a combat knife. Bayman caught her by her slender wrist and twisted it. She groaned, the blade falling out of her grasp before he disarmed her of her firearm. The moment he thought he had her, she kicked his thigh with the pointy end of her heeled slingback. The sharp, pinching pain made him release her, and she back flipped a few feet away.

She smiled and held up her guard. "Not bad, although I expect more from Donovan's top hit man."

Bayman glared at her. "I no longer work for that scum. Who are you?"

Her face seemed to grimace in shock. "You…you don't?"

"Isn't that what I just said? You have ears, don't you?"

"Then why are you here?" She chose to ignore the insult, one hand at her hip.

"To kill him. And you?"

The woman giggled, sliding her sidearm back into its holster. "Same. But I don't understand. Why are you here to…"

"Don't have time to explain. Get out of my way." He pushed past her; yet, when she called out to him, he stopped.

"He's long gone by now. One of his other chauffeurs came and got him. I was just about to leave before you showed up." She sauntered past him and shrugged. "Sorry, bud. Looks like you missed your chance."

_'Damn…'_

"You know," she rested two fingers against the underside of her chin, "perhaps we should work together, seeing as we share the same goal. You game?"

"I work alone."

"No holding back on the machismo, I see." She scoffed at the statement. "Still, I could be of help to you. I once worked for Donovan, so I know a lot of information. With me on your side, you'd get a heck of lot closer to him than you would without."

Bayman thought about it. He did not want someone tagging along like some sidekick when he could do everything on his own; yet, at the same time, he wanted Victor dead more than ever. He crossed his arms and sighed, knowing he was taking a gamble here. "I'll let you work with me…for _now_. But know this." He drew his own knife, flipped it by the handle between his fingers, and pointed the blade's tip at her. "If you try anything funny, I _will_ kill you. Clear?"

"Crystal." The woman winked, shaping thumb and forefinger into a circle to give him the a-ok gesture. "Name's Lisa, by the way." She extended her nailed hand.

He turned and walked away, leaving her to follow.

"Well," she said with an obvious hint of sarcasm, "I can tell working with you is going to be loads of fun." 


End file.
